


Grey Skies Changing

by redsnake05



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Adultery, F/F, Non-Graphic Sexual Assault, Non-Graphic Violence, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-24
Updated: 2010-03-24
Packaged: 2017-10-08 06:54:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redsnake05/pseuds/redsnake05
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Luna comes to Shell Cottage after her incarceration at Malfoy Manor, the memory of the cold confinement and Bellatrix's twisted words is heavy inside her. In Fleur, she finds someone who can warm her. Fleur finds something equally valuable in Luna.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grey Skies Changing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ships_harry](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ships_harry).



The window sill was painted white, framing muted grey skies. Luna leaned against the wood, staring out as if she could see straight though the gloom and find wild blue skies beyond. The clouds stayed close, wrapping round the cottage in a damp embrace. Luna's toes were bare on the hardwood floor and her fingers wrapped around her mug of tea. She wished there was something to enfold her, cloaking and holding her close and safe, just for a little while.

She heard footsteps behind her. Not the sensible-shoed tread of Hermione, or Ron's slipshod rush. It didn't sound like Harry, either, who always put down his feet as if afraid the very earth would reject him. Luna took another sip of her tea and looked up, again, at the sky. Grey, still, and quiet, a muffler on hurt and pain. The footsteps slowed and came to a stop behind her.

"It's nearly lunchtime," said Fleur. "I've brought some clothes I thought might be a little better than what you currently have."

Luna turned and took in the sight of Fleur by her bed, dropping a bundle of soft cloth onto the plain quilt. She looked down at the functional jeans she'd borrowed from Hermione, Harry's old t-shirt that sagged in the neck. Fleur lifted up a shirt and shook it out, delicate yellow cotton. She eyed it critically.

"That looks nice," said Luna, coming to stand next to her by the bed, putting her cup down on the table there. The clothes smelled of lavender, perhaps from storage. Fleur smelled of something spicy, with a sweet, wild scent of jasmine over the top.

"It's some clothes belonging to Gabrielle, from her visit, and some of mine. It's lucky we both have the same colouring, yes?"

Luna had never thought of it before. Clothes had always been something to wrap herself in against rain and sun and, occasionally, when she noticed, indifference or derision. Not much got through them. These were different, light and fragile. Looking sideways at Fleur, Luna saw the strength shining through and wondered where it came from. She saw in Fleur the same pale skin, light eyes and hair, but hardly the same colouring. Luna felt as washed out as the moon at midday in the sunshine of Fleur's beauty.

"You're very beautiful," she said, matter-of-factly. "You shine with it, like there is fire under your skin."

Fleur laughed delightedly. "Ron told me you were different - honest and fun. He did not tell me you had poetry too."

"How should he know?" asked Luna, puzzled. "I don't think I do."

Fleur held up one finger to signal Luna to be quiet. "But you do. Under this hair - ugh, did the revolting Death Eaters not provide a brush? - I am sure there is poetry, just waiting to be found. Try on this shirt, Luna, while I find a hairbrush for you. I know a few detangling charms."

Luna held the shirt in nerveless fingers, the yellow a bright splash to focus on instead of the memory of insistent fingers twined sharply in her hair.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

The next day was a little lighter, fingers of light peeking through the grey and touching down on the grass. Luna sat on it, uncaring of the damp soaking into her jeans. The wind was a little chill, raising goosebumps under the soft pink of her t-shirt. Her jacket lay discarded next to her, but Luna merely wrapped her arms around her knees and looked for the horizon. A smear of grey-green hills blurring into grey-blue sky, it was so far away; smudged like a bruise. She looked down at her arms and saw the merest green trace of one poking out from under her sleeve, remnant of some set of rough fingers or another.

Hands had gripped around her flesh, tight and unyielding. A shackle, not a cape. When Bellatrix had stood behind her, fingers clenched tight on her arms and mouth twisting round filth next to her ear, Luna had felt only revulsion. It had crawled under her detachment, under the vague air she knew that others laughed at. Bellatrix hadn't laughed at it, but she had laughed at the way Luna struggled in her grip. Her smile had been triumphant when Luna had flinched from the corruption of her demands.

Luna hugged her arms around her knees a little tighter. She knew she should go back inside soon. There was light and warmth and smiles, crusty French bread from a recipe from Fleur's family and thick, hearty stew. Her stomach grumbled in spite of herself, reminding her of all the meals she'd missed or wolfed down without tasting. Worse, the ones where she'd been spoonfed, Bellatrix's fingers guiding each mouthful into her, cooing and petting her.

Standing, she brushed the loose grass off and walked back towards the house, jacket clutched tightly to her chest. Fleur met her halfway, coming back from the garden with a basket full of vegetables and herbs.

"The pink looks good on you, Luna. I am quite envious of Hermione, wearing those bold reds, but you and I, I think, we are better like roses, yes?"

Luna smiled, the tight feeling of confinement leaving her chest and letting her relax. "You can be like a rose," she answered. "Not me, so much."

"But, no," protested Fleur as she reached out and rubbed the thin cotton of the hem between her thumb and forefinger. "If not a rose, then, are you perhaps the moon, like your name tells me? Changeable, easily hidden by clouds, but pulling on us all the same?"

Luna looked down, embarassed. She had never imagined that someone like Fleur might say things like that about her; she saw herself as vague and ordinary, a little out of focus. She only saw the exotic in others.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

Ceramic comfortably warm in her grip, Luna concentrated on keeping her fingers loose around the cup. Holding too tight made her feel like she was throttling something, and that would make her skin crawl all across the back of her neck and down her back so she could hardly keep from twitching. The tea was hot and little tendrils of steam escaped to eddy and drift into the still air of the kitchen. The smell of baking filled the air, yeasty and warm. Luna was safe, sitting in her chair with her tea and her clothes on and the gentle anticipation of her next meal. Raindrops beaded and wandered on the glass of the windows from the drizzle outside.

The chair next to her scraped and Fleur sat down, her own cup of tea in front of her. Luna looked at her sideways and wondered if she dared tell Fleur about what had happened in those cells. She needed to tell someone; it was itching and scraping under her skin and she _hurt_. She wondered if Fleur would understand, if she would recognise the darkness and comfort Luna through it.

"Something happened to you," said Fleur, looking at her directly. "Do you wish to talk about it?"

Luna smiled. Fleur was always different to what she expected. All her doubts eased slowly, disappating along with the steam from her tea. The smile faded and Luna looked down.

"It was cold, there, dark, and everything was hard edged and bleak. It caged me in and trapped me. And then _she_ would come." Luna shuddered a little, taking a long gulp of her tea, striving to keep her voice calm and placid as ever.

"Who?" asked Fleur.

"Bellatrix Lestrange. She had eyes so cold and so wild they could burn right through you. She would hold me, trapping me against her with her hands around my arms or on my throat. She laughed when I got scared." Luna looked down at the table. "People think I'm a little odd, like I'm not quite all there, right? I've been like that for a long time, since my mother died. It's easier, sometimes, to just not... be present. Bellatrix forced me to be present. She wasn't happy with just confining me, she wanted me to suffer from it."

"She hurt you," said Fleur, not making it a question.

"Not like that," said Luna, at once. "She was taking it slowly, she said. If I hadn't been rescued...."

Fleur reached out, arms closing around Luna in a warm cradle. Luna felt tears in her eyes, pricking salty and hot behind her lids. She let them escape, trickling down her cheeks like fat raindrops down a windowpane. She felt like Fleur must be able to see right inside her, to the lonely, solitary core where she'd retreated after her mother's death. She didn't pull away, letting Fleur stroke her face and throat and murmur to her softly in French. Luna understood most of it, the tone conveying what the words did not. Fleur spoke of _safe_ and _mine_ and _close_, and Luna let the tears drain her of the cold confinement, letting the soft words buoy her, until she would be able to find her standing herself.

"You will overcome this," promised Fleur, tilting Luna's face up and drying it with a soft cotton napkin. This one smelled of lemon verbena, and Luna was clutched by the memory of her mother on washing day, haphazardly throwing everything in together, but never forgetting to add the herb to the rinse. Fleur leaned forwards, wiping away the last tear, by the corner of Luna's mouth, with her thumb. She came closer, pressing her lips to the place her thumb had traced, leaving Luna suddenly breathless.

Luna's lips parted, whether to speak or to kiss, she couldn't say. Fleur slanted her mouth over Luna's moving slowly and gently, warmth flaring between them in the simple touch. Luna brought her hands up to rest on Fleur's shoulders and let the comfort enfold her. Then Fleur's tongue swiped over Luna's bottom lip and heat flared between them. The kiss became devouring, tongues twining and retreating, teeth nibbling on lips. Luna gasped with pleasure at the slow burning flame in her belly.

The bang of the front door slamming separated them. Fleur smiled and tucked Luna's hair behind her ears, pressing one last kiss to her forehead. "You will overcome this," she promised, again, voice low and throaty. Luna didn't reply, knowing that her own voice was beyond her command right now.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

The sky was grey and heavy, clouds settling in like elderly relatives after a long meal; prepared for the long haul of hanging around, threatening rain and thunder and jagged bolts of lightning. Luna stared at Fleur, dirt clinging to her hands from the gardening. She hadn't seen Fleur for some months, not since she'd left Shell Cottage the morning after the kiss, and it was now high summer, humid and opressive and waiting for a break. Fleur looked as composed and unruffled as ever, light and serene in her Muggle dress. Her shoulders gleamed in the strange orange light of the afternoon.

Luna led the way to the back of the house and lathered her hands at the tap with soap that smelled of peppermint, soothing and cooling on her skin. There was lemon balm in the old-fashioned lemonade she brought out in a blue pitcher. Fleur took her glass with a smile and sat next to Luna on the back step.

"It is nice, yes, to work in the garden sometimes," she said. Luna agreed, waiting for her to speak more. She had nearly given up hope of seeing Fleur again, dismissing the kiss as comfort only, or even the fevered product of her imagination. Fleur drank deeply from her glass and put it firmly down. Luna kept her glass, cradling it in her hands and watching the condensation bead on the surface.

"Those of us with Veela blood, we are proud, fierce in our passions, did you know that? The spark, that avian ferocity, that lingers long through the bloodline. In Bill, I found someone who matched it, easily, with that laidback charm and quick wit to go with it. Things changed."

"Fenrir Greyback?" asked Luna, very quietly, still looking at her glass. She had seen the results of his savagery on Bill's face, and on the bodies of other 'guests' at Malfoy Manor.

"Yes. The charm is still there, the wit, but the spark... is now so sharp." Luna chanced a glance in her direction, to see her gazing sorrowfully at the ground. "I can no longer be all he needs, when the moon tugs at him and turns the spark into a blaze, hot and uncontrollable. He needs more, and he takes it."

"What about you?" asked Luna, voice very soft.

"Me? I also have needs that Bill can meet no longer. His softness has gone, he is now hard edges and feral intensity. I need more. When the moon tugs at me, I need someone to remind me of the inevitable wax and wane, without urgency."

Silence fell. Luna put her glass down on the ground next to her and rubbed her hands on the cotton of the skirt covering her thighs. The air was close, so thick in her throat, but Luna managed to get the words past it. She'd hoped for months that Fleur would come, and now she was here and fugitive hope was rising through her.

"Why are you here?" she asked.

"I hope," said Fleur, turning to look at Luna fully, "that maybe you can be that person. To show me the gentle hands of the moon. In return, maybe, I can wrap you in comfort and understanding."

Luna let the words sink into her. Fleur wanted her, even if only a little part of her. She remembered the sense of home she had found in Fleur's arms, remembering their warmth and the ways Fleur's voice had twined itself inside her, in all the places no one had touched in long years. And she wanted Fleur, who was beautiful and intense and gentle. Luna's desire was slow-stirring but sure. She didn't know if Fleur meant for now or forever, but she knew what her answer must be.

"Yes," she said, getting to her feet and offering Fleur a hand up. "Let's go inside."

She led Fleur through the house to her bedroom, gesturing towards the bed as she turned to push the windows wide. Fleur pulled back the quilt, exposing the white sheet underneath, and sat on the edge. Luna pulled a bowl from a shelf and tapped it with her wand, filling it with water and the heady scent of amber and jasmine. She brought it and a soft towel back to the bed and knelt at Fleur's feet, carefully unstrapping her sandals and rubbing the marks underneath with her thumbs. She dipped her hands into the water and caressed Fleur's feet with her wet hands, the long, slow strokes sliding over them gently. Satisfied, she reached for the towel and carefully dried them, then dropped the towel to run her damp fingers up Fleur's calves, enjoying the soft glaze of their skin together.

Fleur stood, pulling Luna up with her and pressing a soft kiss to her neck, just under her ear. Luna shivered at the touch. The soft trail of lips and teeth worked down to the base of her throat before Fleur reversed their positions and sank to her knees as Luna sat back on the bed, swiftly toeing off her sandals and kicking them under the bed. Fleur guided Luna's feet into the cool water, running her fingers over and around the delicate bones and sinew. Luna sighed, looking down at Fleur's bent head. The rough brush of cotton was almost startling, soothed by Fleur's slim fingers around her sole, lifting Luna's foot to bestow a kiss on the instep. The friction of her tongue over the clean flesh was shocking, intimate. Putting Luna's foot back on the floor, Fleur pushed the bowl out of the way and knelt between Luna's knees.

Luna reached out, cupping one hand under Fleur's jaw and tilting it up, leaning forward and down to kiss her, open-mouthed and trembling. She had been waiting for this for a long time, and it was better than she could have imagined. Fleur's mouth welcomed her, the low flame building slowly between them. Fleur pulled back, her eyes dark and lips slightly swollen.

"Touch me," she demanded, low and throatily, "kiss me again." Luna tugged her up to stand between her thighs, pushing the straps of Fleur's dress over her shoulders and down her arms. It fell to the floor in a puddle of blue. Fleur reached behind her for the catch on her bra as Luna pulled her t-shirt up and over her head. She was nude underneath and she watched the heat kindle in Fleur's gaze. "I want to be naked with you," said Fleur, hands reaching behind Luna to unfasten the button on her skirt, lips grazing over her neck.

The rest of the clothes hit the floor in a soft jumble, leaving them skin against skin as they tumbled back onto the sheets. Luna felt the imprint of Fleur on her skin everywhere they touched as they kissed again. Fleur's fingers circling her nipple drew a low moan from Luna's throat, and a satisfied noise from Fleur. Luna pushed them over onto their sides, ducking her head to kiss down to Fleur's breast and suck the hardened nub into her mouth. It was Fleur's turn to moan. Luna switched to the other, enjoying the sounds was making, excited by the taste and touch and smell of Fleur up close. The smoothness of her skin, faintly sweet under her tongue, fed the fire burning low in Luna's belly.

They kissed and touched, trading the soft twining of lips and the slide of hands and fingers over each other, and let the sweet ache build between them, sure and inevitable. Finally, Luna kissed her way to the junction of Fleur's thighs, spread open and waiting for her. Luna's fingers went first, gently parting the outer lips and opening a path for her tongue. The taste was a little salty, somehow familiar and exotic at once. She wanted more.

"Stop, Luna. Stop. Let's do this together," urged Fleur, shifting to lie along Luna's body. When she pillowed her head on Luna's thigh, Luna realised what she meant and closed her eyes in sweet lust at the thought.

"Yes," she said. "Oh, yes, Fleur, please." She cradled Fleur's hips close, diving back in to the sweet centre, licking over Fleur's clit in a teasing flicker. Fleur's tongue answered, circling firmly over Luna's clit and nudging her closer to the edge. Luna felt the connection between them, circling round in a loop of pale skin and silvery hair, round and ancient as the moon. Luna felt herself clenching and tightening, ready to fly into clear skies. It came slowly, building between them until they both came with soft shudders and moans.

Luna rested her head on Fleur's thigh, letting her breath return to normal in the cocoon of their bodies. The faintest of breezes came in from the window, barely dispelling the humidity of the atmosphere. Fleur pulled away at last, turning on the bed and lying back on the pillows. Luna joined her, curling into her side and resting her hand on Fleur's belly. Fleur's arm went round her shoulder, her other hand playing lazily with the ends of the hair lying over Luna's shoulder.

Looking outside, Luna watched the sky darken further and felt the slow, subtle shift that said the storm would break soon, and the rain would drum on the ground, leaving the clean scent of green, bruised grass. Wrapped in Fleur's arms, warm and content all the way through, Luna waited for the sky to change.


End file.
